Shattered Yet Not Broken
by Hotch Fan
Summary: Spoilers from 1x10 "Number Crunch." Finch was not about to let someone else die without doing anything to stop it. He was not about to let his... what was Mr. Reese to him anyway?


******So yeah, I finally catch up with Person of Interest a few weeks ago and I'm totally hooked. After seeing the first ten episodes I'm totally in love with this serie** and here am I, writting for this fandom. ****I have no idea where this came from, it just started forming in my head and I have to put it on paper (kind of). Please, be aware english is not my first language, so there could be some mistakes.****

**Also I owe a huge, huge thanks, to **_**Nebula2 **_**who was kind enough to go through this and check for misspellings for me while I get a beta for this show.**

**I don't owe Person of Interest or any of its characters.**

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><p><strong>OoOoO<strong>

**Title: Shattered Yet Not Broken.**

Sitting in front of his many screens, Finch squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a bracing breath, hands clenched tightly against the edge of the desk as yet another wave of pain tore through his body.

Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at the small bottle of pills that invitingly rested on top of his desk.

Being in pain was not unusual for him, he had learn to live with it after his _accident_. There was always pain; on the good days, the pain was manageable without him having to take anything and on the very bad ones, no matter how many pills he took, he could barely get out of bed.

Today, however had been... different. After the explosion, Finch had taken a cab and returned to the library. The pain had been bad back then, but he had refused to take anything, knowing he needed to keep his mind clear and alert, so he could work on saving Wendy McNally and Paula Vasquez.

But now- now it was over. Mr. Reese had been in time, saving the girls, and Finch had already sent Jim Hallen's tape to Detective Fusco, so the Detective could take care of him.

With a resigned sigh Finch reached for the bottle, letting out a groan as a wave of pain shot across his back and neck. Sitting back with a grunt, he took two small pills and popped them into his mouth, swallowing dry.

Grudgingly, Finch pressed a few keys on his keyboard and the recording of the station -or rather of Detective Carter- started playing. He needed to make sure nothing _significant_ had happened while he had gone to see Mr. Hallen.

Watching Detective Carter who just sat behind her desk, writing, he set forward the recording, stopping when he watched her take the phone.

_'Maybe you can come in here, help me explain some things.'_

As soon as Finch heard the words he knew it was Mr. Reese at the other side of the phone. He had already heard Mr. Reese's side of the conversation, now he would hear Detective Carter's.

_'Thank you... For saving my life.'_

Finch pressed his lips into a tight line, the ghost of a smile appearing across his face, just for a second.

He had recruited Mr. Reese for his skills, his training, just to help him with the physical aspect the machine, the _numbers_, required. But that Reese care, that he didn't see this as a job or a game, but as what it was; a way to save lives. All of that was a bonus, a bonus for which Finch was immensely grateful.

Finch looked back at the screen where Detective Carter was just hanging up the phone, Finch pressed a few keys, moving the tape forward and then stopped abruptly.

_'He just called. I know where he's going to be.'_

He sat there, just looking at the screen for a few seconds. He hadn't heard that, there had to be some kind of misunderstanding. She couldn't be turning Mr. Reese over, not after _he_ saved _her_ life. After he was trying to help her. She couldn't.

On the screen, Carter hung up the phone, stood and disappeared from the screen. A tangle of feeling run toward Finch's body. He felt sick, he felt angry, but above all he felt scared and worried.

But there, deep down, was a feeling of betrayal. He knew that feeling was absurd. Detective Carter was not betraying anyone, not Mr. Reese and most certainly not him, she was only doing her job. She was a good and honest cop, as Mr. Reese had said when her number had come up. And according to the law, what she was doing was the right thing.

Reese. He was in danger.

Finch was shaken out of his dazed state and without wasting more time he looked at the time in the screen. This had happened about thirty minutes ago. He needed to move, he needed to move and get there. _Fast_.

Finch was not about to let someone else die without doing anything to stop it. He was not about to let his... what was Mr. Reese to him anyway? He was an employee, of course, but there was more than that. He couldn't call him a friend, not yet anyway, but Mr. Reese was the closest person Finch had now. That he had had for a long time. Since Nathan.

Finch shook his head. It did not matter what Reese was to him, he wouldn't let him die.

Forgetting about the significantly lighter, but still present pain in his back, since the pills hadn't had long enough time to act, Finch stood up abruptly with a grimace.

He limped toward the stairs, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

Finch pressed speed dial one and could barely hold back a curse as it went straight to voicemail.

It was not something unusual. Mr. Reese usually turned off his phone after they wrapped everything up after a 'case'. Sometimes he came back to the library, other times he went back to whatever hotel he was staying at the time and in a couple of minutes, an hour tops, he turned it on again. It was like a ritual; an habit Finch had never questioned him about.

Annoyed, Finch slipped the phone back into his pocket and started to go down the stairs carefully, gripping the railings tightly with his hand. He knew he didn't have time to lose, but was also well aware the last thing he needed was fall down the stairs.

After what felt like hours, Finch finally reached the main floor and immediately took his phone out, calling again.

It went to voicemail. Again.

Walking near what once had been the front desk of the library, Finch wished he hadn't send Henry and Frank home already. He could drive by himself just fine, but with either of them would have been faster.

As soon as he stepped outside the library Finch could feel the cold night air against his face, making him shudder. He pressed his jacket tightly against his body as he limped toward his car.

Careful with his leg Finch climbed into the car, starting the engine as soon as he was settled.

Reese's phone was probably still out, but Finch couldn't stop himself from calling again.

Still no answer.

Driving into the dark and almost empty road, he stepped on the gas pedal harder than usual. Finch took a second to be grateful. Grateful because Wendy and Paula's mother was in St George's Hospital, and not some other hospital across the city. That at least was a relief.

Finch didn't even thought about stopping as he passed yet another red light, his own words to Reese echoing in his mind.

_'Sooner or later both of us'll probably wind up dead. Actually dead this time.'_

Finch swallowed hard, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Shaking his head, Finch tried to get the thought out of his mind, only to be replaced by a worse one.

If Reese die, it would be his fault. It would be because he got him into this mess. If Finch hadn't contacted him that day, Reese would have been back on the streets -surely drinking- or quite likely in prison, but he would be alive, and even if he had died, it wouldn't have been Finch's fault. But now- now it would be.

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Finch forced himself to focus on the road, and keep the bad thoughts out of his mind. He didn't even know if Mr. Reese was injured, if Detective Carter and her people had caught him. Maybe Reese had sneaked out, just like he always did. He was an expert on that. Or maybe he was hiding and that's why he wasn't answering his calls.

Yes, that was it. It _had_ to be.

Finch was still trying to make himself believe that when he received Reese's call.

_'Hey, Harold.'_

Reese's voice sounded different; it sounded weaker, agitated and the little hope Finch had crumbled. He tried to keep his voice straight.

_'John, I've been trying to call you.'_

Finch held his breath, afraid of what Reese would answer him.

_'Yeah, I've been kind of busy.'_

Sideways, Finch looked at the streets around him, feeling helpless. So close and yet so far away.

_'Where are you?'_

The sound of Reese's heavy breathing filled his earpiece and then.

_'Parking structure. It's not looking good.'_

Finch sucked in a breath. He already suspected it, but hearing it from Reese made it real. Not knowing how to respond, he went to what was safe for him; information.

_'Carter sold you out. They got to her.'_

The sound of a sharp breath at the other side made Finch clench his jaw and his knuckles went white over the wheel again.

_'Yeah, they're clever like that.' _

There was a moment of silence that made Finch panic, before Reese's voice came back.

_'I wanted to say thank you, Harold, for giving me a second chance.'_

'NO!' Finch's mind shouted. 'Don't thank me, don't say goodbye. Don't give up John!'

_'It's not over, John. I'm close. Just get to the ground floor.'_

Finch was so caught up in his thoughts, all his feelings on the surface, that he didn't even notice he had just called him John for the second time.

_'No. You stay away. Don't even risk it.'_

Finch felt the feelings blow inside him and his eyes wet. No, he wasn't about to turn back while the person who had given him hope, who had given him a _second chance_ to make things right, to save lives, was caught or worse, killed.

He just pressed his lips together, stepping in the gas pedal even harder. He was close.

Just a couple of feet away from reaching the hospital Finch watched the door open and Reese stagger out of it, barely able to stand and holding a gun in his hand.

Stopping the car, Finch rushed out, gasping at the sight of Reese; a large red stain on his left side, pale and sweating. Finch suffered a momentary panic attack, seeing the severity of things. What was he going to do now? He couldn't just take him to the hospital. While with all his money he could make any trace of a hospital visit disappear, he needed to fix things before actually showing up with an injured man. That would be too risky.

Finch shook himself. He had to get them both out of here first. As he got to Reese's side, he immediately reached for him, taking one of his arms. He was about to put Reese's arm over his shoulder, to help him into the car, when the door behind them flew open.

_'Hold it!'_

Finch immediately recognized the voice. Hard as steel and determined, just as always. The thought 'it's over' ran through his mind over and over. He tightened his grip on John's body as he turned his head, facing Detective Carter.

There was a moment of silence, with Carter pointing her gun at them. Finch watched as recognition drew over her face, feeling Reese shift against him, using all his energy to turn his head and look at her too.

_ 'You?' _

It took Finch a moment to understand what she mean by that, but when he did, when he remembered they had met before and she thinks he's Mr. Burdett he opened his mouth to speak, to say _anything_ that can get them out of here, he opened and closed it several times, but nothing came out. He didn't even know where to start, what to say.

Finch looked at Carter, looked at the hesitation in her troubled eyes, the slight tremor on her hands holding the gun, almost imperceptible. The way in which her brow was furrowed as she looked at them helplessly.

She was having an internal struggle; a struggle between doing what was supposed the right thing: catch 'the Man in The Suit' as she called him, the man she had been following all these months, or do the wrong thinh; let the man who saved _her_ life go away, the man she knew had saved and protected others too.

Finch stood still, the seconds weighing like hours and the fear that any time now 'the others' -Detective Carter's people- would arrive and just shoot them both hanging heavy in the air, but he didn't dare to move, afraid of startling her.

Carter turned her head to the left in a quick move, and when she looked back at them, a resigned expression had descended over her face. She released a breath as she holstered her weapon, eyes darting both sides, lips pursed. Even then, Finch had no idea what she was going to do.

_'Get him out of here. Come on.'_

It took Finch a second to register the words, to understand them, but when he did, Carter was already at his side, helping him get Reese into the car. She took Reese's weight by herself, walking the few steps to the back door of the car, supporting Reese's body with one hand while she quick and efficiently opened the door with the other and got him inside.

Knowing they didn't have time to lose, Finch left aside his apprehension and allowed Carter to handle Reese as he rushed to the other side, looking at both sides of the street before sliding into the driver's seat.

Sitting behind the wheel, Finch waited for the sound of the door closing, but it didn't, there was only silence. He turned his head, or rather his torso slightly, just in time to see Carter and Reese exchanging a look. There was little light, so he could't really see their faces, their expressions. The urge to tell her they have to go weighed over Finch, the words were on the tip of his tongue when the sound of the door closing finally came.

_'Go.'_

Carter rushed him and Finch didn't even hesitate, he turned on the engine and pressed the gas pedal down, pulling away from the hospital.

Through the rearview mirror, Finch noticed Reese's breathing seemed more labored now, his hand resting over the wound in his torso and his eyes closed.

_'It's not looking good.'_

The moment the thought crossed his mind, it's Finch's turn to press his eyes closed and drag a deep breath.

As he kept driving away, thoughts like why Detective Carter let them go, or what would happen now that she knew their appearances didn't crossed Finch's mind. The only thought in his mind is not a thought. It's a prayer…

_'Please don't let him die, please let him be okay.'_

Finch wasn't even sure to whom he was giving his prayer -he never had been a particularly religious man- but as he kept driving down the road, the prayer kepss repeating over and over again in his head.

He hoped whoever was up there -if there was even someone- would hear him.

**OoOoO**

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks to everyone who read it.**** I hope you all have enjoyed****, and as always feedback is appreciated. Thank you.**


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